


Damage Control

by DarkShadeless



Series: Long live the Emperor (whether he likes it or not) [9]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: And broken hearts, Feels, Hurt/Comfort, Kira feeling stabby, M/M, She is a Good Friend, dundundun, eh, feelings okay, i may have made myself cry writing again, i say Republic but this is very Jedi Order centric, people assuming the worst of other people, the news breaks in the Republic!, trauma mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:02:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21977035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkShadeless/pseuds/DarkShadeless
Summary: #Ladies and gentlebeings, this just in. An anonymous source has relayed footage leaked from the networks of the Empire to us.#
Relationships: Male Jedi Knight | Hero of Tython/Male Sith Warrior
Series: Long live the Emperor (whether he likes it or not) [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1373473
Comments: 36
Kudos: 52





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This took a little while but I've finally made it work. Excuse me while i get myself a tissue.

Raan is in the mess when it happens.

The Force has a queer sense of humor. Most areas inside the Temple are strictly screen-free zones, to filter out distractions and reduce the influx of stimulation. The main mess hall off the hangar on the first level, the one that’s favoured by knights and visitors, is an exception.

If he had been anywhere else- but he isn’t. He’s right there, watching for an update on the potential Rakghoul outbreak on Alderaan, when the news anchor stops talking mid-sentence. They touch their earbud, obviously listening to something Raan wishes he could overhear but the filters of the show are too good. Then they start going pale.

After a long moment, they seem to catch themselves and clear their throat. The tinny speakers are loud in the anticipatory silence that has fallen as even those most focused on their food have realized something is going on.

_#Ladies and gentlebeings, this just in. An anonymous source has relayed footage leaked from the networks of the Empire to us.#_

Raan slowly lets his spoon sink. That can’t be good. News from the Empire is _never_ good. What did they do this time? The newsanchor has a remarkable sabbacc-face but their unease is still leaking through.

_#Please be advised that this is as of yet unverified: According to the official news channels of the Empire the Emperor was found dead in his home. Supposedly the Jedi Order is responsible for his death, a claim no proof has yet been forwarded about. We hope to receive an official statement from their embassy soon._

_Cutting now to the barely time-delayed speech of the Emperor’s Wrath concerning the topic, live from Korriban.#_

_What?_ Raan stares at the screen, not quite able to process what just happened. The fur on his back is standing on edge. He had known, of course he did, he-

He did it. Of course he knew. But Master Satele had been so sure the Empire would never admit to what happened, that they had time, to investigate if the Emperor was actually dead and to formulate their own strategy to break the news. This… is not how it was supposed to go.

Looks like they were too slow.

_#Citizens of the Empire, I address you today with grave news.#_

They lay on the propaganda as thickly as always.

While Raan’s mind is already wheeling with all the ways this could screw them over a deeply buried part of him uncramps, after months and months of being on edge. Not completely, it won’t until he has unequivocal proof that that bastard is dead and gone but… a little. If even they admit he croaked, it has to be true, right? It… it should. Hopefully.

Vitiate is such a damned cockroach.

Watching _anyone_ pay homage to him puts Raan’s teeth on edge, even if it is the newer and shinier Wrath Scourge got replaced with when he gave his old employer the middle finger salute.

He’s such a creepy fucker. Not Scourge, though he does have his moments, but Vitiate’s favourite puppet-

The Wrath brings an end to his minute’s silence, reaches up to undo his helmet and Raan’s every higher thought process comes to a grinding halt. Dark hair, pale skin. So obviously Sith blooded, down to the eyes, glowing with inner light.

He has never seen him so angry.

There’s a pit in his stomach and its opening wider and wider, until he feels empty inside. “Yon?”

Raan is lucky that his incredulous little whisper is swallowed by the general _chaos_ that is unfolding around him. Most is bound up in disbelieving exclamations about the Wrath’s, _Yon’s_ , announcement that he intends to take the throne.

 _Most_ of it.

Over by the counter Knight Yadira Ban has dropped her drink and is cursing like a spacer. “You’ve got to be kriffing kidding me with that bantha-fucking son of a Hutt!” If one was paying attention, they might note that her outrage is a little more personal than it should be.

A few tables behind Raan Master Timmns has choked on his meal and is coughing furiously.

Raan understandably misses all of this. He watches a too-familiar face with wide eyes, the ghost of a touch on his cheek, his neck, the memory of a laugh in his ears that sounds nothing like the man on the holo-reel, driven by righteous, unforgiving fire.

A pinprick of pain is what finally jars him out of his preoccupation. He has clenched his fist so hard his own claws are digging into the palm of his hand. When did that happen?

Yon. How can the Wrath be- How. He couldn’t- He wouldn’t-

No.

* * *

_I have to tell someone._ That’s what Raan’s circling thoughts keep coming back to. _I- I have to._

His secret wasn’t such a big thing when it was just a guilty pleasure, a bit of time stolen for himself. A way to feel alive, safe, to forget for just a few hours. What did it matter when he stole away sometimes to meet someone whose touch could chase the cold from his bones? It didn’t hurt anyone.

For the first time since Raan met Yon he can’t escape wondering just how much blood is on his hands. How many people did he kill before he came to find him, at any given time?

Force. He knew Yon was a Sith, just like it was an open secret that he was a Jedi. They never talked about it. Maybe he was always aware that knowing more than he did would ruin what they had. What he thought they had. Did they?

He can’t seem to reconcile the man that helped him through some of his roughest patches with the pristine, merciless image of the Emperor’s executioner, shining against the backdrop of a burning Coronet city.

The Emperor’s Wrath is a _monster_. The list of the war crimes he has committed has grown so long that chronicling them further is almost an exercise in futility.

Having an affair with a Sith is one thing. Keeping a connection this deep to one of their key figures a secret is another one entirely.

Raan _has_ to tell someone. _Oh Force, what have I done?_

He’s still teetering on the edge of convincing himself to do what is right, considers asking Master Satele for a private audience so he doesn’t have to unpack his barely existent love life in front of the entire council, when Raan realizes he has walked into an ongoing session in his preoccupation.

The council sure is assembled and someone is talking. The air is charged.

Raan surfaces from the fog of his thoughts at the tell-tale whisper of danger. Danger? Here? No, not quite. It’s not as immediate enough.

Whatever they are discussing, emotions must be running high. Maybe he should come back later-

Master Kaedan’s voice cracks the tension laden wisps of remembered serenity like a whip. “Master Timmns, are you trying to tell me you have been in contact with the Emperor’s Wrath for _years_?”

What.

Against his better judgement Raan comes to a halt just outside the chamber. He rests a hand lightly on one of the pillars, tries to draw calm from the Force and how deeply it is entwined with the very temple they have made their home.

Master Timmns seems to have more luck than he does. He stands tall, facing down the members of the High council whose shock and unease is palpable in a way Raan has rarely experienced.

“I assure you, master, I have never acted to the detriment of the Jedi Order.”

From across the table Master Kiwiik’s is watching him with something close to pity. “The ways of the Sith are insidious. You might not even _know_.”

“Which is why I have forwarded what remains in my possession of our correspondence to you.” How is he this _calm_? Under the scrutiny of the council Master Timmns seems firm as a rock. There is no doubt in him, no hesitation Raan can sense.

“So you have.” Master Satele puts down her data pad. Her hand is trembling faintly where it rests on it. “Why now?”

The question is all but moot. Raan is sure he knows the answer to it already.

“I assume you have seen the news.” For the first time since he entered, Master Timmns’ voice betrays a hint of tension. He does not wait for confirmation. “Things are changing. I… did not feel I could remain silent on the matter. If he is truly to take the Emperor’s place _we have to act_.”

“Explain.” Oh, it’s never good when Master Satele sounds this terse.

Before Timmns can follow her order, Master Kaedan cuts in, a sneer on his face. “Let me guess, you want us to _negotiate_ with them.”

The object of his ire makes no move to deny that. “That is an option. I’m not sure it is viable at this point but it is.” Master Timmns presses on, “What I meant to say is that if we cannot convince the Republic to do so, we have to be prepared for the necessity to destabilize the Sith hierarchy.”

Stunned silence falls.

Of kriffing course. Because the last time they tried that, that _went so well_. Three guesses who would have to spearhead that kind of mission and the first two don’t count.

What if they ask him to kill the new Emperor? What if they ask him to kill _Yon_?

Could he even do that?

It’s Master Nahri who recovers his wits first in the face of a claim that makes Raan’s heart skip a beat in dread. “That is not the direction I expected your advice on the matter to take.”

“And I do not enjoy saying this. I still hope for an end of our conflict that isn’t bloodshed.” The urgency in Master Timmn’s tone is undeniable now. “But I’m not a fool and _I know him_. Right now the Sith are a conglomerate of splintered loyalties and they are still repelling the Republic’s efforts to route their hold on the galaxy. He _will not_ allow that state to continue. Either they will murder him in weeks or he will consolidate his power and then we will face a united front for the first time in over two decades. Do I truly have to remind you of the Sacking of Coruscant?”

The Sacking. The destruction of the Jedi Temple. Thousands dead, hundreds of Jedi among them. The beating heart of their Order, in pieces. The Sith had taken their own near-defeat and turned it into one of their greatest victories of their ongoing struggle.

Was that because they didn’t have a choice but to work together? Is that why they have been forced into a sluggish retreat ever since, sabotaged by their own greed half the time and outpaced by the coalition of planets and people they picked a fight with, like a womprat snapping at the heels of a much larger animal, unwilling to back down regardless?

The dire picture called up by this claim makes Master Satele’s brow crinkle with the beginnings of a frown. "We do not let fear rule us, Master Timmns. It is a poor guide.”

“What about caution?” He bites the criticism out on the verge of disrespect. The contrast to his fled composure is startling.

“Master _Timmns_!”

Raan waits as the head of their Order stares down the Mirialan master, feeling more like an intruder than ever. He should not be watching this.

After a long moment Timmns bows his head and sighs. “I submit myself to your judgement and I pray you heed my warning.” In a whisper so silent Raan doesn’t expect anyone but himself and perhaps Master Kiwiiks to overhear, he mutters, “though I do not expect you will.”

It’s one of the most awkward moments of his life, when Master Satele gestures the guardians to take the master away, right past him. Raan can’t help but watch them go, unease churning in his gut.

No use hiding now, is there?

He steels himself and enters the chamber proper on silent feet. Master Satele brushes her hands over her face, looking more tired than he has ever seen her. “Somminick Timmns… That Sith has felled Nomen Karr and his entire lineage. I can’t believe it.”

Raan’s stomach turns a little more. “He didn’t look fallen.”

“We must always be cautious.”

The words, ‘ _I thought we didn’t let fear rule us_ ’ rise to his tongue. He swallows them. They almost stick in his throat.

Satele gifts him a tired smile that reaches her eyes despite everything. The well of calm in her seems untouched, no matter that the upper layers were disturbed. “We must discuss this. Was there something you needed, Battlemaster?”

There is only one thing Raan can think to say.

* * *

_No, it’s… it was nothing._

* * *

“Force damn it!” Raan’s fist hits the wall-plating hard enough for the impact to ring through the ship. Pain arcs down his arm. He should have said something. He should have- But what good would it do?

Did he stay silent out of fear? Because he didn’t want to be censured?

Is he letting his own shortcomings get the better of him?

Force.

“Wow, slow down hotshot. I’m not sure our ship can take much more.”

Kira. Kriff. If she sees him like this there’s no way she won’t know- Raan fights for composure but it eludes him. Slowly, he lets his head fall against the cool metal. “I- Could you- I really need to be alone right now.”

No he doesn’t. He doesn’t want to be alone but there is no one he can go to with this. What would he even say?

“You sure?” Doubt, thy name is Kira Carsen.

“That does seem an unwise course of action considering past experience.”

Scourge too? Great. How did he miss them sneaking up on him? He’s never going to convince them to leave him on his own now, it’s hard enough to divert their attention when he’s feeling well. Every time he wants to go out to meet with Yon is a tactical nightmare-

Raan falls headfirst into that thought and then doesn’t know how to finish.

He also falls into something else, a realization he should have had hours ago. Slowly, feeling as hollowed out as he ever has he turns to look up at his resident Sith Lord. “You knew.”

Scourge raises an eyebrow. “I know many things. You will have to be more specific.”

He has to. Right? There is no way he didn’t. Raan has no idea how to feel. There _was_ one person who saw what he was up to, who saw _Yon_ and who should have- “Who he was. You knew he was the _Wrath_.“ He can’t help how his voice breaks. “You did, didn’t you?”

Kira glances between the two of them, visibly uncomfortable. “O-kay. Someone going to tell me what’s going on?”

Raan can barely hear her over the thundering of his own heart. That’s… not a good sign is it? The blank expression on Scourge’s face slowly turns to astonished disbelief and it does not help him get a grip on his runaway feelings in the slightest. Neither does the answer to his question.

Measuredly, as if talking to a child or a person he doubts to be capable of leaps of logic, Scourge says, “I expected _you_ knew. You did not know?”

“You thought I knew I was sleeping with the _**Emperor’s Wrath**_?!”

Scourge doesn’t so much as twitch. “Yes.”

“ _Woah_.” Oh _shit_.

He- he just actually said that, didn’t he? Though ‘said’ is being a little generous. ‘Yelled’ is a more fitting description and going by the sound of someone hitting their head and the vivid cursing that follows even Doc is now very well informed as to the state of his commander’s relationship status.

Kira’s eyes have gone wide. Raan can withstand her searching look for less than two breaths before he has to squeeze his own shut, pressing a hand to his mouth. As if that’s going to help. The tooka is well and truly out of the bag now, isn’t it?

“Oh no. No, no, no, no, no.” Slender hands touch the fur on his cheeks, brush past his whiskers gently. Force, when was the last time someone touched him like this who wasn’t- wasn’t- “Raan, look at me.”

The jittery urgency in her voice is the only reason he manages to do as much and it is still a fight.

“When did this _happen_?”

 _He has to tell someone._ Maybe that urge was about more than just duty. It’s dragged out of him like a physical thing, gravel rough and aching. “After- after the Crucible, the first time, when-“ Raan has to stop to breathe or be sick at the memory alone. Stars, it hasn’t been this bad in ages. He thought he was over this. He thought- _Shit_. “I needed-“

When it becomes clear he won’t say more, can’t say more, Kira finishes for him, and he can see something in her splintering with every word. “When you needed someone and he gave you that. He was everything you wanted. He knew just what to say.” It’s incredibly painful to see that shattered emotion in her, whatever it is. It isn’t pity. It’s too raw.

There is so much she hides away under the brilliant, unstoppable woman she usually is. How does she even _know_? How-

Kira’s voice drops to a whisper. “Raan, he’s a master manipulator. _They all are_.”

Oh. Right. He- he keeps- he keeps forgetting. He keeps forgetting she would know that. It still _hurts_ , hearing what he already knows is true.

Is it true? Was that what was going on? Even if it wasn’t, does it matter?

There were too many quiet little lies left undisturbed, too many things unsaid, and he didn’t realize until it was too late.

“Shit. Come here. Come on.”

Kira draws him into her arms and all he can do is bury his face in her shoulder and cry, for all the things that never would be and maybe never were. 


	2. Chapter 2

It takes a while for Raan to feel better but it helps to finally talk to his friends about what was going on with him, even, as much as he can bring himself to, the relationship he kept to himself for so long. He hadn’t realized how much the collective weight of his secrets was dragging him down. 

Some of their reactions are of a flavour he should have expected and… didn’t. 

“I’m going to castrate him.”

“Kira!” Raan can’t contain a watery giggle despite the fact that not all of his outrage is play. Doc is inching away from her.

Kira doesn’t look mollified in the least by his weak protest. “No dice. He _deserves_ it.”

Raan leans into her and, for the first time in a long time, allows himself to drink in her unwavering support without flinching away in fear of what she might feel from him in return. If she would figure something out he didn’t know how to explain. None of that matters anymore and that… that might be worth all this, in the end. 

Kira sneaks an arm around him and squeezes his shoulder, with a swift, searching glance, before she turns to give hell to their resident physician for ribbing Raan about how 'he didn’t mean it like _that_ when he told him to get out more and get laid.'

"Too soon, asshole! Force, grow a sense of timing."

Scourge is watching the byplay like a man who accidentally wandered into a deeply alien ceremony of a foreign religion, confused and somewhat put off but unwilling to leave in case he gives offence. T7, who has siddled up to Raan to bump into him reassuringly ever so often, is beeping at the Sith gleefully about organic mannerisms and lying his mechanical butt off. He is _not_ helping, no matter what he says. (At least not Scourge. He's helping Raan quite a bit.)

Raan smothers a laugh in his once-padawan’s robe. Yeah. He missed this and he didn’t even notice how much he had lost by crawling into his shell, more and more. Maybe it’s a good thing that’s over at long last.

There’s still something he has to do but… maybe he doesn’t have to do it alone.

* * *

_Master Satele? Could you make some time for me?_ _  
_

* * *

“… so that’s… that’s the long and short of it, master.” 

With more than a few hours of mediation under his belt and Kira’s reassuring presence at his side, Raan has made it through the whole sordid story, though he did have some trouble actually looking at Master Satele toward the end. He’s staring at where his hands are resting on his knees, a little stooped with the guilt nibbling at him at odd intervals. “We never discussed anything of tactical value. Not even what happened to me. The war… didn’t come up. To my knowledge the only information I gave to him…”

Raan trails off for a moment, takes a deep breath and makes himself meet his Grandmaster’s eyes. “All he learned from me was personal.” He can’t seem to find anything else to add but it still feels as if he should. Under Satele’s watchful, carefully neutral stare, he swallows and finally, in a small voice, says, “I’m sorry.”

Kira touches his shoulder gently. He suspects if they were alone she would rather have given him an (equally gentle) head-slap. He has lost count of how many times she has told him to stop apologising. 

Grandmaster Shan musters him for a long moment, inscrutable. “I see.” 

Her silence doesn’t exactly help Raan to keep from running his mouth. He has always had a problem with that when he’s nervous but _usually_ he has a better hold of it. He’s not an initiate anymore.

Nothing about this situation is what he would classify as ‘usual’. “It was never supposed to _matter_. I… I told myself it didn’t. That,” he fights down a pang of his heart, paces himself and lets his mounting anxiety drift off into the Force, much as it will. “Was obviously untrue. When I realized who he _was_ … I swear I wanted to tell you.” Raan manages to close his teeth on ‘I just didn’t know how.’ “But I didn’t. I should have.”

The weight of Master Satele’s attention isn’t getting any easier to bear. Finally, she nods. “Thank you for you honesty. I can see that this has been weighing heavily on you.”

Raan swallows. It has. The burden grows lighter as he allows himself to stop hanging onto it so tightly but it’s not quite gone. It was never all about Yon, either. He has kept his own counsel for too long about too many things. “What is going to happen now?”

A shadow of sympathy crosses Master Satele’s face. “We all make mistakes. The way I see it this is a private matter, though I would appreciate it if you were to consider speaking to the mindhealers about it. They see things even other Jedi do not and can help you if you need it.” 

As if he would refuse her anything at this point. “Of course. But…” Master Satele raises her eyebrows in an unspoken question and Raan’s fur bristles in a flush. “I mean… Master Timmns was only talking to him. I- I was-“ _I was_ **_kriffing_** _him_ , is one of the things that has _not_ grown easier to say, especially to the _Grandmaster of the Jedi Order_. Raan’s skin prickles with how fluffy he has grown in embarrassment. It’s not a reaction he has any control over. 

With a deep sigh Master Satele closes her eyes as if pained. “You should not have witnessed that. _Master Timmns_ ,” her voice is stern, all of a sudden. Raan barely contains a flinch at the unexpected change. “And I will appreciate it if this information _does not leave this room_ , has remained at the Temple to teach our initiates and padawans for years and we have reason to believe that, among other things, he has allowed his connection to the Wrath to influence his curriculum.”

Oh, bloody hells. No way. 

Kira’s presence flares in outrage at his back, a burning counterpoint to the frozen dread taking hold of Raan’s heart. The Grandmaster gives them both a moment, her mouth set and grim. “Yes. This matter _must_ be investigated in full, before I dare guess at whether or not our youngest, most vulnerable Jedi are in danger they, and we, are unaware of. Until such a time, Master Timmns will remain in custody where he can’t interfere.” She takes a soft, calming breath and visibly restrains herself. “Your own situation, while certainly troubling, is barely comparable.”

No shit. Oh, oh kriff.

  
  


Raan is still a little stunned when Master Satele gently but firmly kicks them out so she can get back to dousing whatever fire is first on her mind right at this moment. He would like to say that went better than expected, and it _did_ , but he has way too many new things to be worrying about. 

His companion, it seems, is less overwhelmed. “Yep. Definitely castrating him. What a douche. Your taste in men is terrible.”

“Kira!”

“What?”

Well, it's nice to know their friendship will survive this, not that she left Raan much room for doubt.

* * *

Raan is not the only one who has to make sense of what this development means for him.

While the people of the Republic and the Jedi are occupied debating about the effects and struggling to make up their minds, the coronation of his Imperial Majesty Emperor Sar of House Thum, first of his name and Lord of the Sith Empire, takes place with all due haste. The efficiency his subjects are known for works well in their favor. The rest of the galaxy is still trying to slot this event into the political landscape as the window to put a stop to it closes. In front of what representatives of nobility and the ranks of the Sith could make time on such short notice, the former Wrath exchanges his mask for a crown without issue.

The circlet is a simpler affair than less warlike cultures may employ but there is no mistaking what it is.

He puts it on his head himself. The Emperor of the Sith bows to no one.


End file.
